


Chimaera Red

by White_Rainbow



Series: Operation: Galactic Gambit [12]
Category: Star Wars Legends: Outbound Flight - Timothy Zahn, Star Wars Legends: Thrawn Trilogy - Timothy Zahn, Star Wars: Rebels, Star Wars: Thrawn - Timothy Zahn
Genre: Fanart, Gen, Older Brother Thrass, Thrass is about ten years older, Younger Brother Thrawn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-21 06:55:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11938695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/White_Rainbow/pseuds/White_Rainbow
Summary: Thrawn's earliest memories of his older brother, Thrass, begin with his first lesson in eyeliner application.This can be read as a stand-alone to the series.





	1. The Color of War

A pair of ruby red eyes peek over the wooden table of the vanity.

When Thrass’ eyes drift towards them, they disappear.

He puts the powder puff in the jar and looks over his freshly contoured face.

The little eyes surface once again.

He pretends not to notice and picks up his violet eyeliner.

That curious gaze watches Thrass intently as he leans in and glides the narrow purple pencil along his right eyelid beneath long, blue-black eyelashes. He reaches the edge of his eye and, with a practiced, steady hand, he flicks his wrist creating an artistic streak that fades into his cerulean skin. It reminds him of the stroke of an artist’s brush.

With a satisfied smile, he shifts his attention to the other eye.

He notices that the studious pair of eyes have revealed a small, pointed nose, which rests on the countertop. Little blue fingers press on the edge of the vanity, propping himself up.

“Hello, Mitth’raw’nuruodo,” Thrass says finally, carefully gliding the pencil along his left eye.

“I am observing.” Thrawn’s voice is soft, but his words are crisp and severe, especially for a boy of three years old.

“And what do you observe?” Thrass asks.

When he looks at Thrawn, he sees the little boy’s eyebrows furrow as he seriously analyzes the question.

“That your hand shakes less when you paint your eyes than when you practice your letters.”

Thrass snorts softly, but is careful not to let his hand shake as he finishes his eye. “Does this puzzle you?”

Thrawn drops his eyes and gives a noncommittal shrug, brushing back strands of hair that continue to escape his combed coiffure.

Thrass can sense the frustration build in Thrawn when something puzzles him. Thrawn prefers to study alone. He prefers to seek answers without aid. When it comes to the nuance of emotion, however, Thrass knows he is forced to observe “living subjects.” Thrass never minds being a subject of Thrawn’s investigative endeavors. In fact, Thrass does his best to nurture it, ensuring his answers are very concise, and logical and most importantly, completely honest.

“I take time with my appearance because it makes me feel good. It makes me feel closer to adulthood when speaking with my elders. It boosts my confidence when I speak to those I wish to attract. The very act of applying makeup it is calming to me. It helps me find my center.”

Thrawn nods. “And you are applying lilac today?”

“I am…”

“Is this because you wish to attract Masha’lay’sabosen?”

Thrass manages to flick the pencil off the edge of his eye before blinking at Thrawn in shock. “Is it so obvious?”

“I had my…spishuns?”

“Suspicions,” Thrass corrects.

“Thank you. I had my suspicions.”

Thrass took a small tissue and cleaned the minor imperfections along his line work. “Yes, I do hope that Shalay will notice I wear this for her today.”

Thrawn nods as if giving his approval. “If I ever paint my eyes, it will be to intimin…imita…it will be to scare my enemies.”

Thrass sets down his pencil and considers Thrawn for a moment. “In that case,” He rummages through his small makeup chest adorned with a golden latch. “You will want this.” He hands a long, thin pencil of black wood to Thrawn.

Thrawn reaches up and snatches the pencil.  “What is it?” He asks, carefully turning it over in his small, hands.

“ _Chimaera Red,_  a color fit for a warrior.”

Thrawn pulls off the cap and his eyes practically glow at the sight of the vibrant red hue.

“My enemies will tremble.”

Thrass tilts his head and smiles. “Would you like to try it on?”

Thrawn nods emphatically, a few more strands falling over his forehead. Still gripping the pencil, he lifts his chubby arms so that Thrass can lift him and place him on the countertop.

“Now look up and to the left…no your other left…there we go. This will tickle a little.”

—–

Thrawn opens his eyes.

He gazes at the chiss staring back at him in the vanity mirror, one who has seen forty years of this life, a warriors life, and wonders if he will see forty more.

Soon the  _Chimaera_ will emerge from hyperspace and face the final against the Rebellion.

For now, Thrawn sits in front of his vanity and finds his center.

He picks up the black wood pencil whittled down to a shortened nub. He presses the tip of the scarlet liner a few millimeters below his inner eye, and in a single fluid movement, draws up and along his lower right eye. He repeats the same motion with his left eye, his thoughts drifting to his brother.

_“That color looks better on you than me. Take it.”_

_Thrawn clutches the liner in his hand. “I will return it when I become a commander of my own vessel.”_

_Thrass rolls his eyes. “It will be a fine nub by then.”_

_Thrawn shakes his head. “I will only use it when it is needed. When victory is a must.”_

_“Always so dramatic,” Thrass chides gently, but he straightens Thrawn’s uniform, smoothing out the black tunic and resting his hands on his shoulders. “Please take care of yourself, Mitth’raw’nuruodo. Make the Eight Ruling Family proud, yes?”_

_“I will make you proud,” Thrawn says firmly._

_“I am always proud of my little brother.” Thrass hesitates. “Perhaps not of his defiance, or insubordination, or his lack of respect for authority, but…” he squeezes Thrawn’s shoulder. “I am always proud of you.”_

“Grand Admiral?”

Thrawn opens his eyes and picks up his commlink. “Report.”

“We are approaching Atollon, sir.”

Thrawn nods. “Acknowledged. Thank you, lieutenant.”

He moves to stand, only to realize he is still holding on to the eyeliner pencil.

The threat of more memories begin to press against Thrawn’s resolve, memories that would steal the breath from him and the center he desperately needs for this day.

He lets the pencil roll off his palm, falling from his fingertips back into the makeup chest with the golden latch.

His eyes return to the warrior in the mirror.

And he utters his mantra, the words that have carried him into every battle he has faced, battles for his people, battles for his Empire, battles for he and his family.

“My enemies shall tremble in your name, Mitth’ras’safis, my brother. I shall make you proud this day.”


	2. The Long Way Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thrawn shows off his new eyeliner to the other warriors of the Eight House.

Thrass walks patiently behind Thrawn who scampers through the hallways of the Mitth Estate, eager to show off his newly applied eyeliner. 

Thrawn skids to a halt when he spies a group of Chiss warriors, of the Nuruodo name like him. 

Thrawn looks back at Thrass several times to make sure he is still behind him as he approaches these military personnel.

“I wear this to spark fear in my enemies,” Thrawn says suddenly, interrupting the warriors conversation and pointing to his eyes.

The warriors pause to look down at Thrawn, then up at Thrass with curious expressions. Thrass nods emphatically, hoping they will understand. 

They do… 

“A strong color for a fearsome warrior.” Chaf’rae’nuruodo says. The other warriors murmur in agreement.

“Thank you,” Thrawn says, then standing at his full height he recites: “May warrior’s fortune smile on your efforts.”

There…is no actual Effort during these peaceful times, but Chaf’rae’nuruodo responds all the same: “And to you, brave warrior.” 

The warriors bow.

Pride swells in Thrass’ chest as he watches his little brother clench his small hands and return the bow.

Thrawn maintains a sober face as he takes his leave. It is only when he turns his back on his fellow warriors, does Thrawn allow a slight smile tug at his face at his big brother. 

“They called me warrior,” Thrawn reports, trying to bite back an even wider smile.

“They did. I do believe your warrior’s liner helped.”

Thrawn nods, carefully touching his eye as if trying to feel the color. He stifles a yawn, his eyes blink slowly as the exhilaration of the day finally seems to take its toll.

“I believe it is time for young warriors to retire for the night,” Thrass says. He extends his arms, knowing Thrawn will either accept being carried or will take his index finger instead. 

Thrawn considers his options and then lifts his chubby arms, allowing Thrass to pick him up. 

The older sibling walks mere steps before he hears the soft snore of his little brother, who has nestled himself against his shoulder. 

Thrass finds himself walking slower than necessary back to his little brother’s room. 

These days are fleeting, he realizes. There will be a time when Thrawn is too big to be carried, too big to be told bedtime stories, too big to be protected by his older brother. 

For now though, Thrass takes the long way home. 

For now, Thrass enjoys these moments while he still can.


End file.
